


fated

by cautiouslyoptimistic



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cautiouslyoptimistic/pseuds/cautiouslyoptimistic
Summary: everywhere randvi went, there was talk of a girl, of a powerful warrior: eivor, the wolf-kissedor, five times eivor walks away from randvi and one time she doesn’t
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 370





	fated

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: i keep asking for fic on tumblr for random pairings but then i get impatient and end up writing it myself. i love these two so much here's my contribution to our tiny (so far!) fandom

Everywhere Randvi went, there was talk of a girl, of a powerful warrior: Eivor, the Wolf-Kissed. There was a part of her, still uncertain, still wary, still uncomfortable in her new home, that thought this Eivor was nothing but a myth, a story invented to put the prince’s new bride at ease as she settled in. 

Sigurd laughed when she confessed her thoughts, pausing his packing and giving her a lopsided grin. 

(It was charming,  _ he _ was charming, but the flash of his smile didn’t have the same effect on her as it did on the other girls she’d met, the ones who seemed to swoon when Sigurd walked by. 

For Randvi, it was charming, yes, but oh so empty.)

“I assure you, wife, Eivor is as real as they come,” he said, coming up and placing a hand on her shoulder. “She’s gone raiding, but should return soon after I leave. I’ve left her instructions to keep an eye on you.”

Randvi quelled the surge of annoyance at Sigurd’s assumption she’d need watching over, unsure if it was for her benefit or his, barely managing to force out a smile. “Must you leave so soon after our wedding?” she asked, switching topics. “Perhaps I can go with you?”

“No,” Sigurd said quickly, shouldering his packs and not meeting Randvi’s eyes. “Your place is here, with Eivor. The two of you must help my father with our people until my return.” 

Randvi hummed, silent for a moment. “Is she then? Eivor?”

“Is she what?” 

“Everything they say about her,” Randvi clarified. 

(A girl touched by the gods, a girl not meant for this world, a girl who walked with one foot already in Valhalla. 

A girl who no one really seemed to know beyond her talent with an axe.) 

Sigurd grinned his charming grin and placed a gentle kiss to Randvi’s cheek, lips barely brushing her skin. Still, Randvi had to force herself to remain still, to not show her distaste, to not turn her cheek and avoid the kiss entirely. “Eivor is all that and more. Once you come to know her, you will come to love her, I’m sure.” 

1.

In all honesty, Randvi wasn’t sure what the feast was for, though she supposed once the ale started to flow, that no longer mattered. King Styrbjorn sat at his throne, focused intently on whatever the short haired older man at his right was saying. Randvi kept her eyes on them, curious, wondering what sort of business the King was conducting with his son not around. 

Her musings were cut short when she felt a pair of heavy arms around her shoulders, tugging her back towards the food and drink and music. “Randvi!” called her assailant, clearly having enjoyed the ale for longer than the rest of them. “You mope your husband’s absence too much. If he is not around to warm your bed, I imagine mead will be an adequate enough replacement.” 

Randvi suppressed her frown, allowing herself to be dragged towards the merriment, not minding when she was pushed onto a bench at the table, a plate of food and a mug filled to the brim with ale placed in front of her. “Thank you, Thora,” Randvi said, taking a sip of the ale, giving the other woman a wane smile. 

Thora collapsed next to her onto the bench, heaving a sigh. “I do not know where you find the strength, Randvi. To be alone so soon after marriage. Why, it’s only been one winter! And already your husband spends no time here at all. Sigurd was always dependably present, one can only wonder what changed, what—” Thankfully, Thora did not get to finish. Just then one of the children rushed in, shouting  _ Eivor is back _ , and the woman herself appeared behind them, leaning against the entrance to the longhouse, looking bone-weary and haggard. 

“Another feast in my absence, Thora? So busy,” Eivor said, her eyes on Randvi, clearly having heard most of Thora’s comments moments earlier. 

“Had we known you’d return today, we would have waited of course,” Thora said quickly, getting to her feet and putting distance between herself and Randvi. “King Styr—“

“—it matters little,” Eivor interrupted, still not looking Thora’s way. “Randvi, I’ve put the children to work but I am over my head it seems. Would you come help me with them?” 

It was an offer to escape, a way out, and Randvi allowed herself just a moment to marvel at how utterly grateful she was for Eivor before she got to her feet and followed Eivor away from the longhouse. 

(In the year since her marriage with Sigurd, she had gotten to know her husband’s sister better. 

Eivor was stoic and broody, silent more than not, and prone to bullheaded stubbornness. But she was also selfless to a fault, gentle when she needed to be, and full of love for her clan and her brother. 

There was so little she actually  _ knew _ about Eivor, but sometimes Randvi would get glimpses when she ate or walked with the other woman. Moments, brief and tantalizing, offering insight into the sadness in Eivor’s eyes, brows perpetually furrowed in worry, back sagging under a weight she did not even seem to realize she was carrying.)

They walked in silence until they reached the docks, then Eivor motioned for Randvi to sit, waiting until Randvi did so, before following suit. “Don’t listen to Thora,” she said after a long quiet, the only sounds around them the lapping of the water and the faint music and laughter that floated over from the longhouse. “Just last week she complained about how much space her husband takes in bed, she is just jealous you have yours all to yourself.” 

Randvi couldn’t quite help her snort, shaking her head in an attempt to remain serious even as her lips quirked in amusement. “Her husband is tiny, Eivor,” she said, turning to look at her husband’s sister and raising an eyebrow. It was not yet dark, though the last vestiges of light were quickly disappearing over the horizon, shadowing Eivor’s face and expression. 

“Small men have much to compensate for,” Eivor responded with a grin. In the fading light, she looked almost mischievous, and Randvi had the sudden, ludicrous thought that Eivor was rather beautiful. 

She blinked that thought away, pushing it down as deep as she could, where it would join all the other ludicrous thoughts she’d had about her husband’s sister over the past year. 

“I fear she may have a point,” Randvi said, more to avoid her own thoughts than any real desire to confide. “Since our marriage, Sigurd has done his best to stay away.”

Something passed over Eivor’s face, almost like a pained expression, like she was torn between wanting to ease Randvi’s mind and loyalty to her brother. “You may rest easy, Randvi,” she said finally, expressionless once more. “It is not you that my brother wishes to avoid.” 

She bit her lip, curious, but not wanting to place Eivor in a difficult position. “You know, this wasn’t how I imagined married life,” Randvi sighed, needing to talk suddenly. Eivor nodded encouragingly, holding out a mug of ale that Randvi hadn’t even noticed she had brought with her, waiting for her to take it. “I knew I would become the wife of a future jarl, of a warrior. I was told to expect pain and loss.” She took the ale, looking at Eivor and expecting her to say something, to interrupt. Instead, Eivor merely tilted her head, waiting for Randvi to continue speaking. “I thought that would come from sore muscles after raiding together, the sting of salt from the splash of water as we sailed together, the blistering of our hands as we built our home together. But the only pain I feel is the ache of loneliness.” She met Eivor’s eyes, feeling a little lightheaded at the intense look the other woman was giving her. “Do not worry, drengr, I will get used to it.”

“I have no doubt you could, but you should not have to,” Eivor said, voice soft. 

Randvi blinked in surprise, not having expected such a response and not sure what to say in light of it. “There are worse things than loneliness,” she tried, but Eivor’s eyes silenced the rest of her attempt to make light of her own feelings. “You cannot change your brother, Eivor.”

“No, Sigurd is his own man,” she agreed. “I have experienced the sore muscles, the stinging eyes, and the blistering hands, but it was the ache of loneliness that was the worst pain of them all.” She reached out slowly, as if wanting to give Randvi time to pull away, and tugged gently, teasingly, on the end of her braid. “And as long as I am around, I will make sure you do not suffer such pain.” 

Randvi’s throat felt tight, and her tiny “How?” came out as nothing more than a strangled whisper. 

“I will limit my raids. It has the added benefit of pleasing Styrbjorn. And when I go hunting, you should come with me.”

Randvi, whose mind (with its traitorous, ludicrous thoughts) had jumped to other conclusions, regained the ability to breathe. “You enjoy the time alone, I know you do. Would you really want me to intrude on that?” she said as she found her voice. 

“It is not an intrusion,” Eivor said simply. 

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Eivor?” Randvi asked, more to avoid accepting an arrangement she was sure Eivor would soon regret offering than actual curiosity. To her surprise, Eivor chuckled and tugged on her braid once more before dropping her hand and pulling away. 

“No, I do not think so.”

“Really? In all your travels, all the people you’ve come across, none have managed to snag your heart?” 

Eivor laughed again, looking at Randvi as if there was some sort of joke she was missing. “One has, yes, but it is not my fate to marry.” 

“You never know, it isn’t wise to assume what fate has in store,” Randvi said, frowning at the smile on Eivor’s face, perplexed by the pained look in her eyes. 

“You may be right, but fate has not been kind to me, and I do not think that will change anytime soon,” Eivor murmured, getting to her feet with a pained groan, reminding Randvi that she’d just gotten back from raiding, that she must still be aching from bruises and blows. 

“Why don’t you go tend to your wounds? I’ll find you something to eat, if only to help you avoid King Styrbjorn a bit longer.” 

Eivor grinned her lopsided grin, small and rare, and Randvi felt her heart pound harder in her chest, felt a faint blush on her cheeks, hoping against hope Eivor would chalk it up to the cold and think nothing of it. “Very well then. And you should think about practicing with a bow over the next few days, to be ready for when we go hunting.” With one last look, she turned and walked away, leaving Randvi at the docks, overwhelmed with ludicrous thoughts. 

2.

Despite Sigurd’s lofty promises, the beautiful land they settled on, and even the skeleton of a home, it was long and arduous work to get their settlement up and running. 

Some things she expected, like the headaches Alvis and Holgar would cause when they inevitably began to argue. Other things she had not, like the struggle with keeping her eyes off the way Eivor’s muscles actually  _ rippled _ with every swing of her hammer. 

Randvi paused for a moment, sitting back on her haunches and abandoning the stack of maps and reports Sunniva had brought her in favor of looking at their half completed longhouse and then out to the haphazard array of tents outside. 

(She wasn’t sure why she’d expected Sigurd to stick around, why she thought he’d stay to help build, that he’d oversee his people gathering the resources they needed to build their homes and livelihoods. 

He had stayed long enough to nod a farewell at her, to show Eivor her quarters, to task the two of them with building Ravensthorpe up essentially on their own, before he took off, Basim in tow. And Randvi was... _ relieved _ .)

She shook her head, trying to physically dispel the negative thoughts, when she noticed that she could no longer hear the sound of Eivor’s hammer. “Eivor?” she called, frowning when she heard no reply. Realizing she was quite alone, Randvi was tempted to take advantage of the moment and go for a short break for some fresh air by the creek running along next to the longhouse. If anything, it would help dispel the image of Eivor swinging a hammer that was seared into the back of her eyelids. 

Decided, she left the longhouse and headed towards the creek, lost enough in her thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the soft sniffling over the babble of the water until she almost ran into Knud. Before Randvi could approach, figure out what was wrong with the child, she noticed Eivor was already there, kneeling in front of him, looking up at him carefully. 

Randvi stepped behind a tree, hidden from view, and watched. 

“I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what has happened, little one,” Eivor was saying, looking at Knud a little anxiously. “Are you hurt? Did something attack you?” 

“N-no, I’m not hurt, Eivor,” the boy stammered, wiping at his cheeks, trying to hide evidence of his tears. 

“Come now, Knud. There is no honor in lying. What has happened to make you cry?” 

“Do you promise not to tell anyone?” Knud asked, shoulders sagging when Eivor nodded seriously. “I went out into the forest even though Mother said not to and I saw a big boar. It was huge! But I,” he sniffled some more, “I ran when I saw it, Eivor. I’m a coward, I’ll never be a drengr like you.” 

For a long moment, Eivor was silent, as if shocked by the confession, but then she let out a soft laugh. “Coward is not the word I would use,” she said seriously, tipping his head up with a tap under his chin. “You showed the wisdom of Odin by retreating. You had no weapon, no shield. Even the mightiest drengr could not face a boar like that.” 

Knud eyed Eivor suspiciously. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course. There is no shame in fear, Knud. And blind courage is not the only thing that makes a drengr.” She patted his shoulder and got to her feet. “Now it’s time for you to go home. And next time remember to listen to your mother.” He nodded smartly, back straight, then turned and ran off. Eivor watched him go for a moment, and before Randvi could sneak away, turned to look directly towards her. “You’ve always been loud when in the forest, Randvi,” Eivor said, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t think I did not notice you hiding there.”

Randvi stepped out from behind the tree and leaned back against it, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at Eivor. “Is arrogance a requirement for a drengr, because if so, I’m not sure if I’d want Knud to become a warrior like you.” 

Eivor laughed, stepping closer. “I heard him crying while searching for some firewood for Yanli.” Eivor shook her head, sobering slightly. “There is still so much to do. I don’t know how I can get everyone the things they need.”

“Eivor—“

“I just, I want to make sure everyone is doing well. I— _ Sigurd  _ wants his people to be happy.” 

(Randvi wondered if Eivor ever noticed, if she knew that she treated the clan as her responsibility, as her own, and added Sigurd as an afterthought—unconsciously aware that he had bigger desires and dreams than their small life could hold. Randvi wondered, since arriving in Mercia, if Eivor recognized she was jarl in all but name. 

She wondered, but she knew better than to voice it aloud: Eivor would not accept it.) 

“Do you think you’d ever want children? You’re so good with them, surely you’d want your own?” Randvi asked, thinking about the easy way Eivor managed to get Knud to calm down, how she cheered him up and sent him home with just a few words, how all the children looked up to Eivor in a way they did not look up at the other warriors. 

Eivor took another step closer, barely an arm’s length away from Randvi. “I have enough to do without adding motherhood to the list,” she said lightly, sighing when Randvi just stared at her. “What’s the purpose of this question, Randvi?”

“I want to know you better, that’s all.”

“Very well, in the interest of getting to know one another, do  _ you _ want children?” 

_ Not with Sigurd _ . The thought came suddenly, but not very surprisingly. She was rather sure it had always been true. “No,” she said, avoiding Eivor’s eyes. “I don’t think I do.” 

“This, then, is something we have in common,” Eivor said briskly, as if in a hurry to end this line of talk. “Come on, Randvi. Let’s go make sure Knud made it back home in one piece.” She began walking back towards the settlement as she talked, and Randvi couldn’t help but wonder why it hurt so much more to see Eivor walk away from her than it did when it was her husband. 

3.

She did not notice the illness creeping up on her. 

Though the look Tove gave her as she led her to her chambers and helped her into bed suggested otherwise, Randvi also didn’t believe she could be faulted for not noticing. After all, it began slowly, with more exhausting days, gradually becoming a persistent cough, all until she felt feverish and chilled to the bone, nearly collapsing as she attempted to keep the settlement running. 

Tove tutted with disappointment as she made sure Randvi was properly tucked under her furs, shaking her head when Randvi made vague gestures towards the alliance map. “No,” she said, rather roughly. “Eivor would have all of our heads if she knew we let you work while ill.” She poured out a horn of water from a jug set on the table near Randvi’s head and held it out to her. “Drink, understand?”

“Don’t tell her,” Randvi rasped out, taking the horn and sipping slowly. “Don’t tell Eivor.” 

Tove raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a laugh. “And face her ire when she finds out you were ill and no one sent for her? No, I’m sorry, Randvi. Hytham has already sent word.” 

Randvi wanted to argue, she was rather sure she tried, but the next thing she knew, she was waking up, and standing at the entrance to her chambers, was Eivor. 

“You should have sent word sooner,” was Eivor’s first comment, stepping forward and dropping to her knees next to the bed. Judging from the dirt on her clothes, the pack at her side, she’d must have just arrived and come straight to the longhouse. Without waiting for Randvi to speak, she dug through her pack and pulled out a fistful of herbs. “I’ve been assured that brewing this in a tea will help with the illness. Yanli swears by it.” 

“I’m fine, Eivor,” Randvi said, watching as Eivor shrugged off her cloak and shield, letting them drop to the floor, brows furrowed in concentration. “You didn’t have to rush all the way back. You have better things to do than care after me.” 

Eivor met her eyes briefly, opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “Tove said she has already stressed the importance of drinking water,” she said, almost chidingly, placing a hand on Randvi’s forehead, making a soft, slow swipe between Randvi’s brows with her thumb. 

“Eivor, there is so much to do, I—“

“—try Yanli’s tea. I’ve asked Hytham to take up correspondence with your scouts for a time so you can rest.”

“This is unnecessary. I’m fine. Everyone falls ill sometimes—“

“—but you are not everyone,” Eivor interrupted, making the swiping motion with her thumb again, nearly making Randvi embarrass herself as her eyes tried to flutter shut. “You are too important to this clan to allow a fever to take you. You must rest.” 

Randvi stared at Eivor, at the way her eyes flitted over Randvi’s face as if trying to somehow divine a secret that would assure her that Randvi was not seriously ill. It was so...different. Different from the way Sigurd ever looked at her, different from the way anyone had ever looked at her. 

And it occurred to her, exhausted and still somewhat feverish, that her ludicrous thoughts were not so ludicrous at all. Who  _ wouldn’t _ feel connected to someone like Eivor? Who  _ could _ look at her and take note of her kindness, her strength, her wisdom, and not feel  _ something _ ? 

Randvi’s heart skipped a beat when Eivor’s thumb ran along above her brow as she pulled her hand away, and she thought:  _ Oh _ . 

“I—”

“Ah! Look! The jarl’s wife is awake and fine,” Dag called out loudly as he appeared in the doorway to her chambers. He eyed Eivor with more than a little animosity. “You’ve done your duty to Sigurd and ensured his wife is fine, now we must leave her to rest alone in the jarl’s chambers, where neither of us belong. We have work to do for Sigurd, the  _ jarl _ . Isn’t that right, Eivor?” 

Eivor didn’t turn around, ignoring Dag entirely. “Send word if the tea and rest do not help, Randvi,” she said, smiling lightly at her before getting to her feet. “We’ll return soon.” She gathered her things and finally turned to face Dag. “Get the longship ready, I’m on my way.” He just huffed and left them, but when Eivor made to follow, Randvi called her back. 

“Be careful, Eivor. And...thank you. For the tea.” 

Eivor nodded awkwardly, stared for a moment, mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to say something, but then she nodded again before finally turning her back and walking away. 

Randvi turned her head to stare at the tea Eivor left behind, unable to help the incredulous laugh that escaped her. 

Sigurd was right, it turned out. She had indeed come to love Eivor now that she knew her. But Randvi didn’t think Sigurd had ever thought to consider she would be  _ in _ love with Eivor too. 

4.

The feast had been Hytham’s idea. 

When Eivor and her crew had returned from Lunden, flushed with success at taking down three members of the elusive Order, at procuring new friends for the Raven Clan, it seemed logical to celebrate. Or, as Hytham said, it was wise to savor victories while they could. Even Dag, who had been surly and angry since Eivor had been put in charge, was enjoying himself for a change, laughing and drinking with Bragi at the end of the longhouse. 

Randvi watched them all for a moment, not drinking from her cup, taking in the smiles and the joy on everyone’s faces. It was nice to see. The longer Sigurd remained away from his clan the more his people tensed, and this moment—brought to them in no small part thanks to Eivor’s efforts—was good for morale. 

For everyone, of course, except for Randvi. 

(She did not regret kissing Eivor nor did she regret confessing her feelings. There was no way she could regret it, even if she wanted to. 

But it was so...hard. Hard to look over at Eivor across the alliance table or here now as she challenged Alvis to a drunken flyt, and not think about how Eivor had suggested she felt similarly, how it was honor and love for family and clan that kept either one of them from taking it any further.

Gods, it was hard to listen to Birna regale them with tales of Eivor’s travels and not think about how much easier it would be for Eivor if she had feelings for someone else—someone who did not come with the promise of hurting her brother.) 

“You and I have a lot in common,” Birna said unceremoniously as she sat down next to Randvi, having left a perplexed Eivor alone with Octavian. He was going on loudly about Maximillian, and Randvi wondered about how one put feelings to words like ‘broken-hearted.’ 

“Do we?” Randvi asked distractedly, trying to keep herself from rubbing the tips of her fingers against her sternum, trying to discover the source of the pain in her chest. She felt another sharp stab as Eivor got pulled into a conversation with Petra. 

“We do,” Birna said cheerfully. “You and I both fell in love with someone we can’t be with.” 

Randvi’s eyes widened and she turned to look at Birna in shock, torn between hushing her and finally confiding in someone. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” she said finally, settling on ignorance. Birna laughed. 

“You know, the only difference between you and me is Soma would never love me back, but Sunbeam? Sunbeam is  _ madly _ in love with you.” She shook her head in absolute confusion. “If I thought I had even the slightest bit of chance with Soma, I would’ve taken it. So why are you hesitating?” 

“I’m married.”

Birna shrugged. “Marriages end.” 

“To her brother,” Randvi pointed out.

Birna waved a hand disinterestedly. “Love is love.” 

Randvi paused, biting her lip, feeling both an urge to ask Birna about the thoughts that so plagued her every time Eivor left the settlement and the crushing shame that it wasn’t her place. “Does she—” She cut herself off, trying again. “On your travels, do you think there’s anyone—” Randvi shook her head, the shame finally overpowering the curiosity. “Maybe she’ll find someone who’s easier to love than me. That would be best for her, I think.”

Birna laughed so loud in response, it had Eivor looking over at them with a confused expression. “You sound jealous and self-sacrificing at the same time, Red, and let me tell you, it’s the strangest thing these eyes have seen.” Birna clapped Randvi on the shoulder, offering a strange sense of camaraderie Randvi had never really experienced before. Solidarity, she thought. “I’m rooting for the two of you,” Birna said with a wink, getting to her feet and stumbling off just as Eivor finally made her way to Randvi. 

“Was she bothering you?” she asked, eyes narrowing as she followed Birna’s retreating figure. Randvi shook her head quickly and grabbed Eivor’s wrist, tugging her closer, motioning for her to sit. 

“No, we were just chatting about love.” 

“Oh?” Eivor murmured, tensing a little. It suddenly occurred to Randvi that Eivor was struggling. She was struggling with staying away, struggling with questions of honor, struggling just as Randvi was struggling. Eivor, who was diplomatic but was not a diplomat; Eivor, who chose actions over words to show how she felt; Eivor, who already shelved her feelings once and seemed to be agonizing over it, as if she wasn’t sure she could do it a second time, as if unsure she’d made the right choice. 

And it occurred to Randvi that just pretending that precious moment between them never happened was more for her sake than Eivor’s, to protect her bruised pride. And love was more selfless than that. Or at the very least, she rather thought it should be. 

“Yes, I was saying that love is worth waiting for.” 

Eivor relaxed all at once, her eyes roving over Randvi’s face before settling on her lips. “And if the wait is indefinite?” she asked, which Randvi translated as ‘what if getting Sigurd back takes too much time?’ Or, perhaps more accurately, ‘despite everything, are you still in this?’ 

(And foolishly, ludicrously, Randvi was. 

She always would be.)

“For me, at least, the love is still worth it. Even if it cannot be,” Randvi said, trying to reassure Eivor, wishing she’d hold her gaze for longer than a moment, suppressing the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch Eivor by clenching her hands into fists.

“It can,” Eivor said in barely a rasp, icy blue eyes finding Randvi’s and thankfully, mercifully, staying there. “It has to.” 

Randvi was spared having to think of a response. Before she was able to get her pounding heart under control, Eivor was being flagged down by Hytham, who seemed intent on discussing some new thoughts he had about the Order. 

She smiled encouragingly at Eivor when she hesitated, for the first time feeling secure in the knowledge that though circumstances kept forcing Eivor to walk away from her, fate would always lead them back together. 

5.

She caught sight of Eivor almost entirely by accident. 

Since his return, Sigurd was prone to fits of anger, and Randvi had learned that the best thing to do was slip away quietly, let him calm his rages on his own. She’d taken to taking walks outside, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the the sounds of life coming from the settlement. If Eivor happened to be in Ravensthorpe, her wolf or her cat would accompany Randvi, walking at her feet. If Eivor wasn’t, Randvi would get a short visit from Dandy, the fox making trilling noises before scampering back towards the trees. 

(It was nice, having these creatures around. 

As if she had tiny pieces of Eivor nearby, even if she couldn’t have Eivor herself.)

She was on one of her walks when she heard the rustling of leaves of a bush nearby. Thinking it was Dandy, but worried it was a bandit of some sort, Randvi gripped her hammer tightly and approached the bush. 

“Come out!” she called when the bush seemed to  _ move _ , definitely caused by something much larger than a fox. “Show yourself, intruder.” 

“Randvi?” The bush rustled again and Eivor came stumbling out of it, hunched over and pressing her hands tightly against her side. “Is that you?” Blood seeped out from between her fingers and she seemed to lose the last of her energy with it. “There was...a bear. Caught me by surprise.” She collapsed to the ground. 

Randvi froze. Looking back, it couldn’t have been more than for a second, maybe two, but she  _ froze _ . Her hands were still, her heart had thudded to a halt, her lungs were refusing to fill with air, and her eyes—her eyes remained on Eivor’s prone body. 

(For a moment, the birds stopped singing and the wind stopped blowing. For a moment, everything,  _ everything _ , came to a stop as Randvi was struck with her worst fear realized: the possibility of losing Eivor.

But it was just for a moment. As her heart resumed its beat, as her lungs filled with enough air for her to yell out for help, as her hands pressed against Eivor’s wound to stop the bleeding, her only thought was,  _ no _ .

No, this was not how it was fated to be. She was not meant to lose Eivor, not now.

Not like this.)

It was remarkable, really, the way everyone rallied to help. Gunnar carried Eivor to her chambers, Sunniva ran to fetch Valka, Birna rattled off all the ways she’d seen Soma help her injured warriors after battle. And Randvi, Randvi kept her eyes on Eivor as she barked out orders. 

“Make sure Valka brings those herbs she uses to dull the senses. I need bandages, clean rags, a bucket of water. Maybe some mead?”

“Mead, Red?” Birna said, pausing her Soma story. “What’s the mead for?” 

“For me,” Randvi muttered, watching anxiously as Gunnar slowly set Eivor on her bed. “Okay, everyone out. I have to undress her and I doubt Eivor would want an audience.”

“Call out if you need anything,” Gunnar said gruffly, patting Randvi on the shoulder before shuffling out of Eivor’s chambers. Soon enough, Randvi was alone, stripping Eivor of her tunic.

The wound was a single, deep gash on Eivor’s left side, right below her ribs, looking like the bear had managed to tear at Eivor’s side with an errant claw. With some trepidation, Randvi dunked one of the rags into the bucket of water and began wiping at the blood and wound, attempting to clean it up as much as possible before bandaging it. 

“Randvi, gently,” Eivor moaned when Randvi’s hands shook a little too much, jostling her a little too roughly. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” She pressed another clean rag to the wound, feeling an enormous amount of relief when Valka finally arrived, looking from Eivor to Randvi with a strange expression. “Did you bring your brew?” 

“Yes, but it seems she does not need it at the moment.” She nodded towards Eivor and Randvi felt her heart lurch when she noticed Eivor had gone very still. In the seconds before she noticed the slight rise and fall of Eivor’s chest, she thought—for the first time—she understood what it meant to have one’s heart broken, to have her heart ripped right out of her chest, to feel the world fall from under her feet. 

All those phrases Octavian liked to shout about when referring to ancient artifacts, words Birna used when she spoke of Soma, words that Randvi had always thought to be merely figurative, to be exaggerations, and turned out to be so much more than she could’ve imagined.

“She will be fine, Randvi,” Valka murmured, setting down her brew and placing a hand on Randvi’s shoulder, grounding her. “Her color is already returning.”

Randvi nodded shakily, noticing Valka was right; with every rise and fall of her chest, Eivor seemed to pinken further. Her lips, her cheeks, the tips of her ears. “Thank you, Valka. I know you must be busy. You can go if you need to, I’ll watch over her.” 

She didn’t quite pay attention if Valka stayed long enough to respond. Her only focus was making herself comfortable at Eivor’s bedside, checking on the drengr every few hours, looking up in worry at every groan of pain, every shift in discomfort. She wasn’t quite sure how much time passed like that, with her on high alert, checking Eivor’s bandages, shooing away anyone who came by to see if there was anything they could do. 

But then Sigurd came out of his daze long enough to not be angry or irritated, but  _ worried _ for his sister. 

“When did this happen?” he murmured softly as he entered Eivor’s chamber, eyeing all the additions she’d made since he first gifted the room to her: the book she got from Lunden, the bow from Essexe, gifts pressed into Eivor’s hands from new friends and random strangers. 

Randvi blinked and studied her husband, rubbing her eyes as she got to her feet. “It’s been...a day now. She’s only woken briefly once, I had her drink Valka’s brew. To help with the pain,” she tacked on, looking to Eivor again. 

“And you’ve been at her side since?” 

“Of course, where else would I be?” 

There was enough silence that Randvi turned back to Sigurd with some confusion, finding him already looking at her with some interest. “Where indeed,” he said softly, lips quirking slightly, almost as if in amusement. For the first time in  _ years _ , a bit of his charming nature gleamed in his eyes, and he shook his head. “Where indeed,” he repeated, eyes falling on Eivor. “When she wakes and you deem her to be healthy enough, send her to see me.” He nodded curtly and turned to leave when Randvi called him back.

“Is there something wrong? Has something happened?” 

Sigurd shook his head as he walked off. “Have no fear, Randvi. All will become clear soon enough.” 

(It did become clear several days later, when Eivor packed for her trip back to Fornburg with Sigurd, telling Randvi her brother had asked her to go with him and she would not refuse him.

It became quite clear when Sigurd pressed a kiss to her forehead as he told her it was time to think about ending their marriage, when he said he would be sure Eivor returned in one piece, when he smiled his charming smile and apologized for causing her so much pain. 

But most of all, it became clear when Eivor walked away from Randvi once more, but paused briefly to look at her, giving her a smirk that gave Randvi butterflies, and Randvi had no doubt about what was fated to be.) 

+1

The night was rather chilly.

The days were growing increasingly shorter, increasingly colder, as winter edged closer. And though she wasn’t fond of the dropping temperatures, she quite liked the silence around the settlement late at night, when it was too chilly for anyone to remain outdoors and she could be alone for a moment to gather her thoughts. 

Randvi wrapped Eivor’s cloak a little tighter around her shoulders as she walked, making her way down to the docks, wanting to take in the sound of the river, breathe in the night air. She’d only been there for mere minutes really, legs dangling from the dock, listening to the water lap against the wood and riverbank, when she felt someone settle down next to her, sitting with one leg extended and the other drawn up to her chest.

“I believe the jarl specifically said to remain indoors as much as possible now that the weather is getting colder, especially at night,” Eivor said, voice tinged with amusement when Randvi ignored her almost completely in favor of pressing up against her to steal some of her warmth.

“What the jarl doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Randvi said, laughing when Eivor turned her head to press a cold nose to her neck, the laugh turning into a startled gasp when she replaced it with her lips and heated kisses. 

“Come back to bed, my love,” Eivor said in between kisses. “It’s far too cold for late night walks. Especially when I have to come looking for you and seem to be missing a cloak.” 

Randvi let her eyes flutter close, ducking her head so that she could press her forehead against Eivor’s, taking a moment to breathe her in even if it meant fewer kisses in that moment. “Did you think we would ever make it here? To this point?” she asked, grateful when Eivor wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer, shifting so that she could press a brief kiss to Randvi’s temple. 

“No,” she confessed softly. “But I hoped. I desired it.” With her free hand she grabbed one of Randvi’s, tangling their fingers together. “And you?”

“I knew. I did not know I knew, but I knew.” 

This made Eivor chuckle as she released her grip on Randvi, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before getting to her feet. “Of course you knew. We all would be lost without you, myself most of all.” Randvi turned her head, for a mad moment expecting to see Eivor’s back to her, already walking away, but when she looked up, it was to Eivor facing her, holding out a hand. “Let’s go back,” she said softly.

Randvi took her hand, allowing Eivor to help her to her feet, and they walked back to the longhouse side-by-side, hand-in-hand—the way it was always fated to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'll take prompts for this two on tumblr @c-optimistic


End file.
